Funeral March For The Living
by Kaara
Summary: Immortality is overrated. HaineBadou. OneShot.


**Title:** Funeral March For The Living.**  
><strong>**Rating:** R for profanity, sexual situations and idk? Basic zombie freak and eyepatch pirate brand of shenanigans.  
><strong>Pairing(s):<strong> Haine/Badou.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I don't own DOGS. Miwa Shirow is awesome and all that jazz.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Immortality is overrated.

**x**

**Funeral March For The Living**

**x**

**1.**

**x**

There was blood on Badou's shirt when he came back.

Haine raised an eyebrow and pointed that out, only to receive an indifferent shrug in return. Badou spat out a bent cigarette (just the fag left, really, he was never one to waste things) onto the floor, grounded it and fished a fresh one out of one of the many pockets he had. He headed straight to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Haine spent fifteen minutes staring at the cracked ceiling from his sprawl on the worn couch by the window, springs pushing up uncomfortably against his back. Makeshift curtains prevented sunlight from invading the privacy of the sparse room, highlighting its collection of filth and grime and Haine didn't even bat an eyelash when the bathroom door slammed open.

Must've been a pretty rough job, a few bad days.

Haine refused to acknowledge the fact that maybe it had something to do with him ignoring Badou's frantic calls.

Badou walked past him bare-chested, a lit cigarette at one corner of his mouth and hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. There were band aids over his arms and just below his ribcage, with little kittens and other cutesy icons that crinkled cheerily as Badou embarked on a search for a clean shirt. The bruises on his face were just starting to darken. "Hey."

Haine grunted, still staring at the ceiling. "What."

"I need a black shirt, man. I'm taking yours. Mine's all ripped up."

The tone was accusatory, because Badou didn't have too many shirts and Haine didn't like to be kept waiting. He tended to get grumpy and impatient. Haine craned his neck towards Badou – tinge of curiosity lacing otherwise monotone voice. "What for?"

"Someone fucked up. I gotta go pay my last respect to that asshole."

Haine's offer was silence and Badou slipped on something he found near the fridge, something black and sombre and red hair against dark fabric reminded Haine of bullet holes and gun smokes. Black ill-suited Badou; black was for someone like Haine (because blood wasn't a colour now, was it). He was used to garish colours and flashy jumpsuits, the clash of red-orange and green-blue-whatever-the-fuck-else characterising that suicidal chain smoker.

The couch creaked when he sat up, one hand moved to rake back wild hair from his eyes. A hint of annoyance crossed his face when his foot made acquaintance with a piece of week-old pizza on the floor. What day was it? How long had he been waiting for Badou's return? Cheese and pepperoni smeared over dirty rug as Haine abandoned the couch and padded towards Badou. He studied the carefully careless expression plastered all over the redhead's face. Badou wasn't a fucking Picasso, that's for sure. "Whose is it?"

"An old friend." He glanced at Haine and his lips curled into a wry smile. There was blood underneath Badou's fingernails when he reached out for his jacket, the pack of smokes on the counter. "C'mon. Since you're already dressed for the occasion."

Haine scoffed, but didn't say no.

It's not as though he had better things to do.

He snapped up his own jacket from the couch, brushed off accumulated dust, blood flecks and exited after Badou.

They left the door unlocked.

**x**

**2.**

**x**

The service was already over by the time they arrived at the graveyard and Haine suspected that Badou's sudden need for a detour to Buon Viaggio had caused that. He didn't say that aloud, didn't need to. A middle-aged couple hobbled past them, sobbing quietly into their handkerchiefs and Badou lowered his head, offered an apologetic smile.

Haine simply scowled at the grinning Bishop.

"What're you doing here?"

"Part of the job description. Someone has to put in a few good words for the dead." The Bishop tapped the gravestone behind him with his cane, leaving muddy imprints on bone white stone. "An acquaintance of yours?"

"Badou's." Haine examined the carved name and couldn't quite remember coming across any _'Murphy Djackowski' _before. Must be a fragment from the time before him.

Badou brushed past Haine and squatted close to the gravestone, acknowledged the Bishop with a nod. He fished out that pack of smokes from earlier and extracted a cigarette, before tossing the pack at the upright slab of stone. He pinched the burning tip of his half-finished stick, carefully stored it away and replaced it with the one he had just acquired. That cigarette remained unlit. "You owe me fifteen."

The conversation was quick and one-sided.

**x**

**3.**

**x**

Haine didn't make it a habit to listen to Badou, often wasn't interested in whines and complaints and stories that didn't match his memories. Badou talked too much, talked too loud. Like he needed to compensate for something he couldn't say and Haine couldn't be bothered (enough) to ask most of the times.

That being said. He wasn't interested in Badou's silence either.

Haine shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the table, ignored empty cans of beer that toppled under worn leather. "Who's he."

Bones jutted in a haphazard design underneath the stretch of dirty white skin when Badou turned toward him and that zombies movie they watched aeons ago (wasn't a fucking date, not really) made more sense now. They must've been resurrected chain smokers from Hell (or wherever it was that people like Badou go after they die; Haine knew where _he_ would be). He didn't even flinch when Badou leaned well into his personal space, red hair tickling his chin and green eye hinting more than insanity. He was used to moments like these (Badou flirted with Kiri, smiled at Nill, squabbled with Mimi – Badou's craziness was his and his alone), revel in them most of the time because fuck, he wasn't the only damaged one around here. "Aww… jealous much, _sweetheart_?"

Haine lifted an eyebrow, closed his fingers around greasy strands of hair and yanked at them amidst yelps of pain and _not the hair, fuckface!_ He was about to tell Badou to shut up and answer the goddamned question when the redhead planted a hand on Haine's head, grabbed a fistful of white hair and crushed their mouths in one hell of a messy, should-have-been kiss. All biting teeth, roving tongues, split lips and snarled _fuck fuck fuck _until they were both breathless and panting into each other's parted lips. Fingers tangled in redwhite hair and Haine licked blood off the corner of Badou's mouth, trailed his tongue upward until he could taste the jagged raised bump of knitted skin and stubborn leather.

He snapped impatiently at the eye patch for getting in the way, grappled with bony elbows digging into his side. It was with much frustration that the obstacle remained unrelenting. "Did you superglue this shit into your eye socket, what the fuck."

Badou snorted, never was elegant when expressing himself and he tightened his grip on Haine's hair. Must've had pulled out a bald patch from principles alone and Haine scowled at the downturned mouth inches away from his face. It reminded him of those child prostitutes they rescued ages ago, which wasn't the most arousing thing ever, to be honest.

"Stop it." It was out of pure selfishness because Haine just wanted to get off and get to bed already, please and _thank fuck_. He had an appointment with nightmares of hellbound mutts and dying little girls. Besides. Badou was the one who shoved his tongue down Haine's throat first – he shouldn't look like he was in the process of getting raped, for fuck's sake. "Or I'm gonna rip your face off."

By that point, Badou had somehow manoeuvred himself on top of Haine (the sneaky fucker) and his hair cascaded around his face like shreds of cheap curtain. The angles of his face were painted with shadows, one green eye lit up with whatever crazy left in Badou's head. Haine would've complained about Badou's weight crushing down his pelvic bones but he was distracted by long fingers curling around his neck in an increasingly tight circle. Haine opens his mouth but couldn't decide whether to laugh or sink his teeth into one of Badou's arm, to steal a drink of blood saturated with nicotine and everything deadly.

Badou cocked his head to a side and the grin slashed across his face in one jagged line of bruised lips and bone-white teeth. His fingernails cut deeper into Haine's windpipe. "You know what I like best about you?"

Haine stared. The gesture would've been more impressive if he wasn't half-naked and slowly being strangled to not-death. He grabbed Badou's shoulder and flipped him over, their arms criss-crossing in between. Haine jabbed a knee into Badou's stomach partly to keep him in place, mostly just for the hell of it. He hoped it hurt. "Just shut up and let me fuck you."

"You don't die."

"I noticed." Haine shook Badou's arms off, could almost feel the bruises fading from the white of his skin. His neck brace felt itchy underneath the roll of frayed gauze to keep his nightmares at arm-length (that didn't work, nothing worked). "The fuck is wrong with you?"

Badou's giggles sounded more straightjacket than actual mirth. "I'm stuck with you forever."

"I should be the one complaining about that—"

"—not that bad."

Haine stilled. "What."

"Forever," he gasped the word with the vehemence one usually reserved for mortal enemies. Badou bared his teeth and the inner lining of his mouth was slick with blood. "Doesn't sound too bad."

Something clicked at the back of Haine's mind, something like graveyards of skeletons and empty black eyes, and he pushed Badou down harder, sunk his teeth deeper into mortal-fragile skin. Badou laughed and howled and spat blood between curses.

"Stop smoking weird shit, dumbass."

**x**

**END**

**x**

**Author's Note: **Um. Another piece from the long-forgotten past. I love DOGS okay. The whole series is just a procession of crazy and it's absolutely glorious lol. Reviews, anyway? Much appreciated!


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